How a heart became cold
by frenchcanadianwritter
Summary: Russia send his son, Moscow, to work as a guard in Altai labor camp. The poor boy will experience many traumas, being only 15, and will forever keep the awful memories of this.
1. Snowy night, hidden tears

How a heart became cold, chapter 1

The young boy slept peacefully in his bed, hugging an old pillow. Outside, the moon was full and the sky dark. The forest, uninviting and scary, was covered in snow. Nothing, not even a wolf, dared disturbing his sleep. But, inside, a man was heading down to the basement. The sleeping boy didn't hear the heavy footsteps going down the stairs in the basement. He didn't see the tall man walking toward him, a cruel smirk on his pale face. The man watched him sleeping, enjoying every seconds before breaking the peace of the moment. He wore a soviet uniform, black and overdecorated. His hair was blonde, almost white, and his eyes were shining of a dark purple, creating an eerie atmosphere around him. This man's name was Ivan Zimavich Braginski, the cruel Soviet Union, land of deadly cold and frozen earth. He stood beside the young boy's bed, watching him. He then hit the boy on the shoulder, hard enough to wake him up. The boy sat up in his bed, lavender eyes wides and fearful, tensed, as the tall man laughed.

-Москва, said the man, I have something /really/ important to tell you.

The boy's eyes widened even more as he looked at the man.

-Д-да, п-папа...?

Ivan's smile grew even wider at his son's stutter.

-You will go to Сибирь and work as an officer in a work camp.

-Ч-ЧТО!?

Moscow quickly covered his mouth, immediately regretting yelling.

-Tsk tsk tsk, don't talk to your папа like that. I thought I raised you better than that.

-П-простите...! -quickly apologized the scared boy.

He waited for his father's violent reaction, eyes closed, a scared look on his pale, almost snow white face.

...

Reaction that never came. The purple eyed man wasn't going to hit his son. He judged that sending him to Siberia was enough. He knew that the silver-haired boy hated to hurt people, so he sent him as an officer.

-Good boy, said Ivan, I'm sending you there because you didn't respect our new soviet rules, да~?

The boy opened his eyes, tears falling down his cheeks. He knew he couldn't do anything to stop his cruel father from sending him to Siberia, he wasn't strong enough, and he was scared, so scared that he didn't answer, paralyzed in fear.

-Now, pack your things. I got you two brand new uniforms, one for зима and one for лето.

Was there even a summer in Siberia? The taller man threw the two uniforms on the bed.

-Put on the winter one, will you? And don't forget the fur hat, it's really cold outside. You won't be able to use your special ability to warm yourself up.

Moscow quietly dressed up. The uniform fitted him perfectly, so did the fur hat. He hated it. He preferred his old uniform, gray, plain and not dark and tick. But he admitted he would really need this coat. Winters in Siberia were deadly, even if he could easily warm himself up. It would take him too much energy, and he would have to stay in bed almost all day.

-Your hair is lice-proof, so don't bring some useless spray.

The boy sighed. His father was right, his hair was practically never dirty, and if lice were to go into it, they would froze instantly and die. He thanked god, even if he shouldn't have, for this ability to froze anything he touched, at least he could avoid one bad thing there. He reached for his suitcase under the bed and put the summer uniform in it.

-You will need soap, socks, ordinary clothes of course, warm ones. You will also need shoes, and medicine. They don't have so much medical things there. I told them to get some, but the generals never listen to me. They say they don't need them. But I know they do.

Moscow put all the items in his suitcase, taking the soap and medicine bottles from the bathroom. He also got a fist aids kit, in case things would get really bad.

-П-папа...? -the silver-haired boy timidly stuttered.

-Mm?

-I-if one prisoner a-asks me for m-medicine, c-could I help them?

-Of course not. They're prisoners, they don't deserve help. -Russia sharply answered.

Moscow looked at his father in horror.

-B-but...!

-No but. Now, finish your suitcase and get ready to leave for Сибирь. A car should pick you up and get you to the nearest train station.

Moscow held back his tears and finished packing his things. He snuck some candies into his suitcase, not really knowing what he would do with them, he just had to. Being pretty poor himself, he didn't really have anything else to put in his suitcase but some general things, like his toothbrush, some cigarettes and a lighter, two books, etc. His father gave him some other directions and he left the house, worrying about what would happen in this camp, and how he could manage to support the sight of malnourished sick prisoners without helping them.

A car with some soviet symbols on it stopped in front of the house. Moscow took a deep breath, still holding back his tears, and climbed in, trying not to think of the future.

-  
A/N  
So, how do you like this fic so far? Should I continue? I will continue, I know I will X3 I just wanted to write a sad story about Moscow, and just as I finished between shades of gray, I thought "Eh, I should make a story about Moscow's past in Siberia camps!" There it is! It will be really /really/ sad with some feels and stuff. Hope you will like it!

Russian:  
Москва (Moskva): Moscow (obviously)  
Да (da): Yes  
Папа (papa): Papa  
Сибирь (Seebir): Siberia  
Что (Chto): What  
Простите (Prasteetye): I'm sorry  
Зима (Zima): Winter  
Лето (Leto) : Summer

So that's all for this chapter. Hope you liked it~

Ps: Moscow is like a mix between male!Ukraine, Kretzsky and Jack Frost .3.


	2. Brutal arrival

How a heart became cold, chapter 2

In the car were three other officers, all looking at him hatefully. They all knew he was a city, and they were jealous of him. Moscow didn't really understand how they could envy him, he lived in a dark, dirty basement, he had Russia for dad, and he was sent as an officer even though he was just 15 years old. He quietly sat beside one of the men, looking down. The officer shifted away from him.

-Николай Иванович Бранинский, is that it? -asked another man, looking slightly friendlier than the others.

-Д-да...

-Здравствуйте, я зовут Владимир Лукич Смирнов.

Vladimir introduced the other men.

-This one is Сергей... I don't know his full name though.

The so called Sergei lifted his head and looked at them. He had light blonde hair and blue eyes, and a scar on his left cheek. He smirked.

-So you're Брагинский, да? -he asked.

-Д-да... But... What's your last name...? -Moscow answered, trying not to stutter.

-Алексеев. Now shut the fuck up. And stop stuttering, it's annoying.

Nikolai looked down, staying quiet for the rest of the ride. There was 5 other men in the car. One had dark blond hair and his uniform was slightly older that the other's. He himself looked a bit older. An other one had light brown hair and green eyes, and looked really tall. He was staring at the ceiling, a bottle of vodka in one of his hand. The other ones were staring at him, some hatefully, some jealously, but no one looked friendly.

When they arrived at the train station, they all got out of the car. The older officer ordered them to a passenger car at the beginning of the train, the place they would live in during the journey. When they passed in front of one of the cattle cars, some prisoners were staring at them. Some were women with their children, some were elderly people. They all looked miserable, all packed up in those dirty cattle cars. Moscow stopped, feeling their gazes on him, and fell on the ground, finally crying, not able to hold back his tears anymore. He sobbed, holding his suitcase, not able to look at those people. The older officer stopped and slapped him across the face.

-Why are you crying, you idiotic kid!? ,the man yelled. They're just stupid pigs!

Moscow tried to stop, but the tears just wouldn't cease to fall down his burning cheeks.

-Get up!

The man lifted him up, looking really angry. Moscow wiped away his tears with his sleeve, catching his breath. He looked at who seemed to be his superior and quickly apologized, stuttering.

-П-простите...

He sniffed, wanting to cry. Those people... He couldn't support the sight of these persons. They were so pitiful that he felt the sudden urge to kill himself because he felt so guilty. He would have to hurt them, to laugh at them, to shoot some of them... He just couldn't bring himself to think about it. He walked toward the passenger car and climbed in, installing his suitcase on of the small beds, claiming it. Vladimir soon joined him, taking the bed on top of his.

-Hey, why did you do that earlier? -asked the man, slightly concerned.

-Я-я не знаю... I-I just felt so... Guilty! I-I don't want to be here... I-I don't want to hurt them... I-I just want to kill myself!

Vladimir looked at the younger boy in the eyes.

-Listen. You must /not/ kill yourself. I know that you're a city and that you will come back to life, but don't do it. It would show how weak you are. Never show your weaknesses, because the others will take advantages of them and hurt you. I know that they don't like you, that's why I'm telling you this. Пожалуйста, get along with everybody's way to treat the prisoners, because otherwise you'll be rejected. Пожалуйста.

Nikolai's eyes grew teary again as he suddenly hugged the older man, who just hugged him back awkwardly, but understanding that he needed a hug.

-Shhh... It's okay... -said Vladimir, patting the other's back as he sobbed.

The young boys kept sobbing in the other's coat, unable to stop. The tears continued falling, and stopped only after about 2 minutes. Moscow tried to catch his breath, wiping his tears away.

-С-спасибо... -he sniffed.

-Пожалуйста...

Vladimir smiled slightly, trying to comfort the smaller boy.

-Hey, it's okay... I will take your turn so you will have a good sleep, да?

-A-are you sure I-it's okay with you...? -Nikolai asked, concerned.

-Да. Now, go to sleep, ok? And...

He handed Moscow a bottle of vodka.

-This will help you sleep. -winked the man.

The young boy took the bottle, staring at it for a second before taking a sip. He took two other ones before collapsing on his bed, tired and not used to strong alcohol.

-Спасибо...

-Ah, it's no problem, really. Have a good night!

Vladimir left the train and took the first turn. Moscow removed his coat and boots and went to bed, falling asleep almost instantly. The alcohol kept him quiet and asleep during the night, the other's snoring not bothering him. Who knew what would be going on the next morning?

-  
Whooooooo~! Chapter two :3

I told you there would be tears!

Russian:

Здравствуйте (Zdastvootye): Hello  
Я зовут (Ya zovut): My name is  
Спасибо (Spaseeba): Thank you  
Я не знаю (Ya ne znayu): I don't know  
Алексеев: Alexeyev

Hope you liked it~

Ps: Vlad is the only one that will be nice with Moscow. So ya. He will be like his older brother.


	3. What could he do?

How a heart became cold chapter 4

Several days passed without anything out of the ordinary happening. They were now passing through the Ural mountains and Moscow was wondering how his father would tell his boss about the fact that he was now heading to the Gulag. The small man that so many people feared, Joseph Vissarionovitch Djougachvili was his full name, but of course everybody knew him as Stalin. Of the few ones that didn't call him like that, Russia always called him by his old nickname, Koba. Never would he use Stalin when he was talking to the man. It thought it pleased the man to be called like that, and it was. Only the oldest friends of the Georgian would call him like that. It made him smile,thing that happened rarely. However, Moscow didn't understand how such a small and disgusting man could be that powerful, how could Russia not see his boss' cruelty. Stalin even forced Russia to hurt his own sisters! How could Stalin have an influence over Russia, said country could so easily knock him down and give the place to another man, even to Trotski! Moscow knew his father much liked this man, but couldn't say it out loud. It was dangerous, even for the giant country, to say his name. Moscow had heard that if you said his name out loud in public, you would immediately go to prison or in a Gulag, or even just get killed! Stalin's cruelty wasn't something to mess around with. To survive, you had to shut the fuck up and live with the man's decisions. Moscow knew he couldn't, but it was alright. He couldn't die. And Stalin was too fond of the boy to hurt him severely. He quite liked Moscow, for unknown reason from said city, but it pleased the boy, who got along with it. Stalin was more proud of Moscow than of his own son, which was weird but like I said pleased Moscow.

Stalin was sitting as his desk, yelling at a blond man that was about three times his height, but looked scared as if the small dictator was a giant. The blond man was Ivan Braginski, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, or simply Soviet Union. He stared at his boss, the only person in this world that could scare him.

-Простите, но-

-WHY DID YOU SEND HIM THERE!? I KNOW THAT WE NEED MEN, BUT NOT SOME RANDOM CITY! AND...

The man kept yelling, breaking a pot that had the misfortune of being in the same room as Stalin at the bad moment. The fragments of ceramic shattered on the floor, and Stalin cut his finger on one of them, cursing loudly at the sudden pain.

-IDIOT! LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID!

-Um, boss, it's you that broke this pot-

-It's because YOU made me angry in the first place! And now I'm bleeding! Stupid country!

-I had to punish him in some way or another. You would have been angry even if I used another method, since you decided that /my/ son was suddenly your favorite.

-Sometimes it makes me furious that you can't die...

-Well, you're furious almost all the time. Even in your childhood.

-And!? I can be angry if I want to! I have many reasons of being angry. And I like your son because he's not a good at nothing like mine!

-I think Nikolai is worse than your son, boss. He cries all the time.

-But he's not an alcoholic people are too afraid to ground.

-You have a point. But he'll surely become one at the Gulag.

-That's why I disapprove your decision.

-He's already there anyway, what could I do about that? I don't even know where the train is.

Stalin sighed.

-Then I hope for your sake that he'll come back fine.

-Да, да... I don't really care. I'm this country after all.

-But I'm your boss and I can do many things you can't do. Like creating another famine in Ukraine. Or organizing other purges.

Ivan's eyes widened in fear.

-П-пожалуйста, н-не с-сестра!

-Then заткнись.

-Д-да...

-Хорошо.

Stalin got up and walked away, leaving Russia alone in his office. The thought of searching through his boss' desk traversed Ivan's mind, but he quickly dismissed it, the thing being foolish. He looked around. Photos of Lenin and Marx hanged from each sides of the wall behind the desk, and there was a flag of the ussr hanging there as well. There wasn't really anything else decorating the office. Russia got up and left, having no reason to stay.

-

Sorry for the short chapter ^^; But at least it's done!

So, I already told you I read an entire book about Stalin for my history research, right? Well, I used my knowledge here! :D I also discovered (to my horror) that we are, let's say, really alike (me and Stalin, not me and the history research). Anyway, did you like this chapter?


	4. The chapter with Stalin

How a heart became cold chapter 4

Several days passed without anything out of the ordinary happening. They were now passing through the Ural mountains and Moscow was wondering how his father would tell his boss about the fact that he was now heading to the Gulag. The small man that so many people feared, Joseph Vissarionovitch Djougachvili was his full name, but of course everybody knew him as Stalin. Of the few ones that didn't call him like that, Russia always called him by his old nickname, Koba. Never would he use Stalin when he was talking to the man. It thought it pleased the man to be called like that, and it was. Only the oldest friends of the Georgian would call him like that. It made him smile,thing that happened rarely. However, Moscow didn't understand how such a small and disgusting man could be that powerful, how could Russia not see his boss' cruelty. Stalin even forced Russia to hurt his own sisters! How could Stalin have an influence over Russia, said country could so easily knock him down and give the place to another man, even to Trotski! Moscow knew his father much liked this man, but couldn't say it out loud. It was dangerous, even for the giant country, to say his name. Moscow had heard that if you said his name out loud in public, you would immediately go to prison or in a Gulag, or even just get killed! Stalin's cruelty wasn't something to mess around with. To survive, you had to shut the fuck up and live with the man's decisions. Moscow knew he couldn't, but it was alright. He couldn't die. And Stalin was too fond of the boy to hurt him severely. He quite liked Moscow, for unknown reason from said city, but it pleased the boy, who got along with it. Stalin was more proud of Moscow than of his own son, which was weird but like I said pleased Moscow.

Stalin was sitting as his desk, yelling at a blond man that was about three times his height, but looked scared as if the small dictator was a giant. The blond man was Ivan Braginski, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, or simply Soviet Union. He stared at his boss, the only person in this world that could scare him.

-Простите, но-

-WHY DID YOU SEND HIM THERE!? I KNOW THAT WE NEED MEN, BUT NOT SOME RANDOM CITY! AND...

The man kept yelling, breaking a pot that had the misfortune of being in the same room as Stalin at the bad moment. The fragments of ceramic shattered on the floor, and Stalin cut his finger on one of them, cursing loudly at the sudden pain.

-IDIOT! LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID!

-Um, boss, it's you that broke this pot-

-It's because YOU made me angry in the first place! And now I'm bleeding! Stupid country!

-I had to punish him in some way or another. You would have been angry even if I used another method, since you decided that /my/ son was suddenly your favorite.

-Sometimes it makes me furious that you can't die...

-Well, you're furious almost all the time. Even in your childhood.

-And!? I can be angry if I want to! I have many reasons of being angry. And I like your son because he's not a good at nothing like mine!

-I think Nikolai is worse than your son, boss. He cries all the time.

-But he's not an alcoholic people are too afraid to ground.

-You have a point. But he'll surely become one at the Gulag.

-That's why I disapprove your decision.

-He's already there anyway, what could I do about that? I don't even know where the train is.

Stalin sighed.

-Then I hope for your sake that he'll come back fine.

-Да, да... I don't really care. I'm this country after all.

-But I'm your boss and I can do many things you can't do. Like creating another famine in Ukraine. Or organizing other purges.

Ivan's eyes widened in fear.

-П-пожалуйста, н-не с-сестра!

-Then заткнись.

-Д-да...

-Хорошо.

Stalin got up and walked away, leaving Russia alone in his office. The thought of searching through his boss' desk traversed Ivan's mind, but he quickly dismissed it, the thing being foolish. He looked around. Photos of Lenin and Marx hanged from each sides of the wall behind the desk, and there was a flag of the ussr hanging there as well. There wasn't really anything else decorating the office. Russia got up and left, having no reason to stay.

-

Sorry for the short chapter ^^; But at least it's done!

So, I already told you I read an entire book about Stalin for my history research, right? Well, I used my knowledge here! :D I also discovered (to my horror) that we are, let's say, really alike (me and Stalin, not me and the history research). Anyway, did you like this chapter?


End file.
